


The Icarists

by avidbeader



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Rating May Change, Situational pronouns for Pidge, additional ships may be added, more characters may be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidbeader/pseuds/avidbeader
Summary: Inspired by the Broadway show "Circus 1903". After I saw the acrobat act with the noticeable size difference between the two men performing it, my mind went straight to Sheith and would not let it go. So I found roles for almost everyone in the show and started plotting. Check this video out (at the 1:30 mark) for an idea of what icarists do.Shiro and Keith are getting by, working on the San Francisco docks and doing the occasional stunt for drinking money in the bars. Then a circus manager sees them avert an accident and tracks them down. He wants them in the Altea Circus.





	1. The Offer

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a heartfelt thank you to [Latart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903/pseuds/Latart0903) for her valuable help in beta reading.
> 
> I'm on Twitter and Tumblr at avidbeader. Come say hi!
> 
> If you recognize the character, it isn't mine. Just playing in Dreamworks' sandbox.

 

 

The sun shone warm and bright in the cloudless sky, but the steady breeze from the water made for a most delicious feel to the air. Bitor Slavinius walked along the wharf toward the fishmonger that Sal had specified. Normally the manager of a circus was above running errands for the cook, but it was on his way from the bank where he had deposited the profits from the last five months into Mr. Alfor’s account. And the profits had been quite nice; there was certainly enough to justify a treat of fresh fish for the company after the long northern circuit though tiny towns. Even little Pidge, who had lived through months of hardship on his own before joining them, had finally complained about the endless stream of beef coming from Sal’s ovens.

 

Slav was enjoying being back in San Francisco, seeing the throngs of people and hearing the cacophony of a crowded city: the clatter of hooves, the bells of the cable cars, the rumble of various engines. A motorcar zipped by, the gears in its exposed engine whirring. Zeppelins crossed the sky, humming propellers pushing them toward their destinations. The higher concentration of crystal-powered contraptions added an energy to the atmosphere. Slav could feel it dancing across his skin, invigorating him as much as the hubbub surrounding him.

 

He paused at a railing, taking in the activity before him with a ship being unloaded. Steam rose into the sky as the winches cranked and platforms of large crates swung across to the docks. Forklifts moved the crates toward the warehouses, their engines glowing blue or purple from their crystal power sources and toothy cogs spinning as they raised and lowered the prongs.  Passengers were filing off the gangplank and dissipating into the crowds of people there to meet them.

 

He was about to head on when a sharp snapping sound echoed through the air, followed by panicked yells. Slav looked back, alarmed to see one laden pallet tilt, the crates sliding toward the edge. A few of the dock workers were trying to push the crowds back, but there were too many people and not enough space to get them clear.

 

“Shiro!” A shout rang above the noise.

 

Slav watched as one of the dock workers snatched up a coil of rope with a carabiner and slung it over his shoulder, then ran at another worker, a tall and powerfully built man. The second worker knelt and held his hands together. The first man stepped into them and the second one snapped up like a piston and vaulted the first into the air. He landed on the swaying platform. Slav’s eyes grew wide in astonishment as the worker secured the carabiner to the low corner of the platform and scrambled up onto the shifting crates to uncoil the rope and throw it over the hook, then across to thread it through the anchor ring on the opposite corner. Slav was amazed at the speed and agility the worker showed, never losing his footing as the pallet lurched and swung.

 

“Ready, Keith!”

 

Without hesitation, the man jumped from the platform, letting himself swing from the rope. The bigger man caught him easily and set him down. Together they pulled. Slav blinked as the sun reflected off something metallic around the second man’s hand. As other workers joined them, the platform leveled off and the crane operator quickly lowered it to a safe position on the dock.

 

The two men looked at one another, then one of them reached out. The other took the hand and pulled the first into a relieved hug as the other workers began slapping their backs and the crowd broke into applause.

 

Slav’s eyes narrowed in thought. He made a note of the pier number and went on to find the fishmonger.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Shiro nodded as he received yet another pat on the back from someone. It was payday and the pub was full of people drinking their earnings away.

 

Not that he needed to pay for a drink tonight. He and Keith had already been treated to two rounds by their foreman, Iverson, and told that there would be a bonus in next week’s pay for their quick thinking to avert disaster. That was a nice surprise, a little extra to add to the stash under the floorboard.

 

Shiro looked across at Keith, who was sipping his second beer very slowly. Keith liked beer but hated getting loaded, and his smaller size made avoiding the latter difficult. Shiro grinned over at him and Keith smiled back – conversation was nearly impossible over the music from the calliope in the corner.

 

A worker from another dock stumbled over to their table. “If it isn’t the Ganey boys! Heard you two were heroes today!”

 

Shiro held onto a neutral smile as best he could. Keith glared at the oaf who was mangling their names, like most of the others who weren’t in their immediate circle.

 

“How about a treat to celebrate? Show us something! A round on me if you do!”

 

Keith slid down in his seat, making himself smaller, and Shiro shook his head. His arm and shoulders were a bit sore from the effort of pulling the heavy platform level again and he was sure Keith ached as well. But others had heard and the people around them began shouting encouragement and clapping. Shiro looked over at Keith and gestured, rubbing his thumb against the tips of his fingers behind their beer mugs.

 

Keith still didn’t look happy, but shrugged and nodded. If they could get a little money out of this, it wouldn’t hurt.

 

“We don’t need another round, Mulligan. Boss already stood us drinks,” Shiro drawled.

 

“Come on, fellas! Have a heart! Circus is in town and most of us can’t pay to see the real thing!”

 

Another man pulled out a coin. “Here, lads, throw some dinero down!”

 

Shiro’s eyebrows rose as several others tossed pennies and nickels on the table, creating a small pile that would cover their lunches for the next week. When someone added a dime—which would have paid for a trip through said circus’ sideshow—Shiro got to his feet. Keith pulled off his shoes, stowing them neatly under his chair.

 

The crowd cheered in anticipation and Shiro spotted one of the pub’s ladybirds coming toward them.

 

“Cover our table a minute, Bessie?”

 

She nodded, giving him her best doe eyes. Shiro smiled back.

 

Mulligan and a few others led them to the center of the room, where the ceiling rose up to the next floor. A staircase to one side led to the circle of rooms where Bessie and the other girls took their customers. A few couples came out to see what the commotion was and leaned on the railings to watch.

 

Shiro leaned down as the crowd began making space for them. “What do you think? The handstand from the side lift? We haven’t done that one for people before.”

 

Keith shrugged. “Just make sure you give me enough lift to get vertical.”

 

Shiro nodded and planted himself with a solid stance. Then he held his flesh hand out to Keith and bent his knees. Keith grabbed the hand and, with one foot on Shiro’s knee and the next in the crook of his metal elbow, climbed to a standing position on Shiro’s shoulders. They paused briefly, establishing their balance, before Shiro held his hands up for Keith to step into.

 

The crowd had gone quiet, the music paused. The two of them had done enough of these stunts in the bars along Sacramento Street that everyone knew quiet was the safest option for them to concentrate.

 

Keith murmured, “Ready.” Shiro nodded and heaved, tossing Keith into the air. He drew his arms and legs in, lightning fast, and jackknifed straight, turning parallel to the floor with his arms outstretched. Shiro caught him, one hand under his arm and the other just below his hip. It was one of his better catches; Shiro regained balance in two steps and was holding Keith over his head, his arms straight. His sleeves slipped down from his wrists, exposing his arm and the crystal-powered prosthetic. There were some scattered claps and whistles from the crowd, most likely from people who had not seen them do a trick before.

 

Keith held himself ramrod straight for a moment, then put his lower hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “Ready,” he breathed again and Shiro tossed again, but with much more power in the prosthetic hand that had been at Keith’s hip. Keith swung up and twisted with the momentum, Shiro grabbing his free hand and shifting. Then he bent his legs and locked his arms into place, hands at shoulder level, helping steady Keith into a handstand. After checking that their balance was still stable while the crowd gasped at this new feat, Shiro slowly pressed up with his arms. His biceps flexing, he lifted carefully until both his and Keith’s arms were fully extended. They held the pose as the applause and shouts began, then Keith let his legs drop and Shiro stepped forward to give him space to land. Keith hit the floor, bouncing light and easy on his feet, and the crowd erupted into applause.

 

There were a few calls for more over the noise, but enough people swarmed to shake their hands or slap their backs that there was no room to try again. Keith snaked through the throng back to their table to retrieve his shoes and Bessie passed him the little trove of coins, knotted inside a cheap handkerchief. He looked back at Shiro and tilted his head toward the door.

 

Shiro nodded and began making his way out, turning down offers of more rounds. The ache in his shoulders was creeping up to his neck – he hoped he still had some of the camphor ointment from their last visit to Chinatown. He stepped outside, gratefully inhaling the fresher air, and halted.

 

Keith had his back to the wall, staring in disbelief at the round whiskered man chattering eagerly in his face.

 

“…such luck! The best I could get from the people at the docks was that your group would be somewhere on Sacramento Street and here you are! The very two people I wanted to speak to! The probabilities are easily below twenty per cent!”

 

Keith held up a hand. “Who are you? Are you with the CCLU?”

 

The man frowned, uncertain. Shiro thought Keith might be right; the man was wearing a suit that pointed to being some kind of official. And if news about the near-accident had spread, it was likely that someone from one of these organizations was investigating, looking for safety hazards or other things that could be considered abusive to the workers. Shiro had no problems with the theory of unionizing, but most of the people trying to accomplish it here were radicals with no sense of how to bring the company owners into the discussion.

 

“I’m not sure what that is. My name is Bitor Slavinius. I’m the manager for the Altea Circus. I want to offer you two boys a job.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Why won’t this day end?_

 

Keith looked around, extremely uncomfortable in the Dolores Hotel’s elegant dining room. Even though there weren’t many people at this time of the evening, he felt like hundreds of eyes were on him, all judging and deciding that he and Shiro didn’t belong.

 

This Slavinius fellow seemed completely unbothered by the attention. He ate with gusto, encouraging them to do the same. Shiro was eating, his eyes focused on Slavinius as he told stories about his circus, describing the different performers and the tour circuit.

 

“So now is the perfect time to come aboard. We’ll be starting the short southern coast leg, going down to San Luis Obispo with a stop in Redwood City, and then working our way back up through Salinas, the side trip to Hollister, then Santa Cruz, and San José. Then we come back up on the Oakland side and start the long southern tour. We always do the northern tour in the summer and the southern tour in the winter. Our temperature units are good, but we still perform in a tent and there’s no easy way to present the sideshow indoors.”

 

Keith finished his portion of the duck Slavinius had ordered for the three of them. He’d never tasted it before; it was a bit strong for him, but he was long accustomed to eating what was in front of him whether he liked it or not. Shiro glanced at him and Keith raised an eyebrow back.

 

“You haven’t said exactly what we’d be doing,” Shiro said, pointing a forkful of vegetables at the man.

 

“Why, an acrobatic act, of course! I saw you two on the docks this afternoon. Amazing presence of mind, by the way. Right then I thought you had the basic skills. I had no idea you were already able to do stunts! I’ve never seen that handstand maneuver before, and I’ve seen dozens of acrobats in my career. All you need is a bit of teaching and practice, and you can take over the spot for the Brambilla Brothers, may they rot in hell.”

 

“We’re not…we’re not acrobats.”

 

Slavinius dabbed his mouth with his napkin and signaled to a waiter. “Coffees, please. Cream and sugar. And bring the dessert tray for us to look over.” The waiter departed and Keith had to control his suddenly watering mouth. He loved chocolate but rarely got to have it.

 

“I know you’re not trained right now, but you have the potential. You’ve easily got the strength in your arms and legs for the tricks, and that fascinating arm of yours just adds to the possibilities. I hope to hear sometime who made it--it’s a gorgeous bit of work. Makes you stronger, too. I saw how high you were able to toss him at the docks. I have to wonder how much stronger you’d be if both arms were crystal prosth--” He suddenly noticed that both Keith and Shiro were glaring at him and snatched up his napkin again. He wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. “Ah, sorry. Anyway, I’ve already seen that he’s fast and agile enough—with a bit of coaching he’ll be doing spins and flips in the air. And you two already have the necessary trust in one another. That is so important in these acts. That’s why you usually see families, brothers like yourselves—”

 

Keith broke in at that, scowling. “We’re not brothers.”

 

Slavinius looked from one to the other of them, surprised. “Really? But you’re both…you’re both Chinese. I thought that would be perfect for the act. The Wang Brothers, or the Li Brothers, if you don’t want to use your own name.”

 

Shiro also looked offended. “As he said, we’re not related. My family is from Japan. His father was Korean but his mother was Irish. We’ve known each other for a long time, looked out for each other, but no. Not brothers.”

 

“I see… I apologize. Would…would a Chinese surname for the act be acceptable? Most patrons would recognize a Chinese name over other countries.”

 

“You’re assuming that we’re interested in the job,” Shiro pointed out.

 

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you be? You can’t be making more than ten dollars a week on the docks. I can match that and include room and board while you train. And once you’re performing it would double. I estimate a sixty-five per cent probability of you becoming one of our top draws, which would mean even more money for you. I also pay bonuses for any extra duties you choose to take on, like caring for the animals or helping keep the machines in good shape. Lord knows it’s a lot for Pidge to keep up even if he is a mad genius.”

 

Keith met Shiro’s eyes, biting his lip. As always, Shiro understood what Keith couldn’t articulate in front of strangers. “We’ll talk about it, mister…”

 

“Just call me Slav, everyone does.”

 

“Slav. We’ll talk about it, but it’s actually a big decision for us to leave steady jobs for a lark like the circus, when there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to give you what you’re looking for. We’re not…entertainers.”

 

“Well, I can understand that, I guess. But my instincts about talent have never been wrong before and I just know you two would make an outstanding act. Here…” He reached into his jacket and pulled out two bright yellow pieces of pasteboard. “Passes for tomorrow’s performances. You can see anything in the circus with those. You do have tomorrow off, right?”

 

They nodded and Shiro accepted the tickets.

 

“Excellent! Now, where’s that waiter? We need to finish this meal properly!”

 

Keith’s eyes lit up as the waiter approached, a slice of frosted chocolate cake among the dishes on his tray.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Back at the boarding house, they made their way up to their room after assuring Mrs. Hamilton, their landlady, that there was no need to put a cold supper together to make up for the fact that they had missed dinner. She was slightly put out at having to credit their account, but fair was fair.

 

Once alone and behind the locked door, Shiro snapped on the small crystal-powered lantern. Keith flung himself across one of the beds and groaned. “What a day. I can’t understand what that fellow was thinking.” He rolled over and reached for the loose floorboard, pulling it up to reveal the large glass jar hidden underneath. Coins clinked and shifted among the scattered bills as he opened it and dug the knotted handkerchief from his pocket. Shiro watched as he counted and added over sixty cents to their savings.

 

“Well, he seems to think we can learn whatever these tricks are. And he’s been in the business a while.”

 

Keith paused in screwing the lid back on the jar. “Wait, are you seriously thinking about it? Giving up our jobs when you’re likely to be made foreman in a year?”

 

“Well, maybe. This Slav is offering to match our current wages and throw in full room and board. That already puts us ahead, not having to pay for a place like this and still buy our lunches. We could possibly save almost all our money, not just a quarter of it.”

 

Keith worried his lip. He hadn’t taken into account not having to pay nearly half their salary to Mrs. Hamilton for their room, breakfast and dinner. “But…even if we can learn what he wants, it sounds like the stunts are more dangerous. What happens if you—if one of us gets hurt?”

 

Shiro nodded. “That’s a consideration. Although, that could happen if we stay on the docks. I mean, look at today. At least it’s possible that if it happened while we were with the circus that they’d offer us a bit of compensation. I’ve heard of that happening.” He moved to sit beside Keith. “And there’s one other thing to think about.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Shiro put his arm around Keith and pulled him close. “We’d be travelling all over California. What if we could track down your family?”

 

Keith froze. To actually be able to trace his parents, find out what happened to them, was an incredibly tempting idea. He licked his lips, trying to work some moisture into his suddenly dry mouth. Shiro put a hand under his chin and tilted his face up. “Look, there’s no harm in enjoying a free day at the circus. We’re not making a decision yet.” He leaned forward and kissed Keith gently, sliding the hand up his jawline. Keith responded as he always did when it was just the two of them, alone together. He met Shiro’s lips with greater force, grabbing handfuls of Shiro’s shirt and pulling him down. Shiro was safe. Shiro was his harbor.

 

Rapid footsteps warned them before a fist rapped at their door. “Shiro? You in there? Jesse said you were back! Were you there when that crane nearly dropped a load on hundreds of people?”

 

They broke apart and rested their foreheads together. Shiro sighed and rose to open the door. Keith quickly hid their savings under the bed and sat up, pulling off his shoes.

 

“Hello, Tommy. Yes, we were there. We were part of the crew that stopped it from happening. So, if you don’t mind, Keith and I are knackered and sore and really need to get some sleep.”

 

Their neighbor looked disappointed but nodded. “Tell me all about it at breakfast?”

 

Shiro nodded. “Sure, Tommy. See you then. Good night.”

 

Keith stood as Shiro closed and relocked the door. He came up behind Shiro, running his hands up his broad back. “Too sore?”

 

Shiro rolled his shoulders and winced. “Dammit, maybe. Do we still have any of that camphor stuff?”

 

Keith moved to the little stand that held their washbowl, opening a drawer and digging around. He spotted the deep blue glass jar and held it up. “Here we go. I think there’s enough to go around.”

 

Shiro slid his suspenders from his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

As they approached the entrance, Shiro noted that the people lining up to pay were being given tickets of different colors and directed to the two women at either end of an arch formed with swags of candy-striped cloth. The arch held a curved metal framework with scrolling letters that lit up and spelled out _Altea Circus._ He pulled out the yellow stubs and handed one to Keith. The nearest, a girl with an eager face and dainty figure, looked at the tickets and waved them through. “Enjoy your visit, boys!” As they walked by, she bowed, swinging one arm wide and up over her back until it was pointing in the same direction as the other, into the circus. Shiro couldn’t keep the surprise from his face and the girl grinned, eyes dancing with mischief, before bringing the arm back to a normal position and turning to the next customers.

 

They joined the flow of the crowd, walking through the sideshow. One fellow was juggling balls, a woman in spangles adding another to his pattern at regular intervals and catching when he tossed one her way. A large fellow encouraged a baby elephant to climb onto a round platform and spin in slow, careful steps. Another woman, with a regal posture and shining silver-white hair, was hitting targets with a whip, including snapping a cigarette from the mouth of a man who showed no nervousness. A pair of sturdily-built performers, alike enough to be brother and sister, showed feats of strength with lifting heavy objects.

 

One of the displays was a booth with heavy drapes covering most of the door. The glowing sign above read _Madame Narti, Visionary to Other Realms._

 

Shiro glanced at Keith. “Shall we?”

 

Keith rolled his eyes, but nodded. The crowd was getting bigger and the noise level was growing as barkers’ voices rose, encouraging people to begin moving to the big tent.

 

They looked inside and found the booth empty except for the woman seated on the other side of a table, set with burning candles. In the center was a large glass sphere with light inside, shifting from one color to another in a slow rhythm. She wore a red hood over her hair and a black silken veil covered her face. But she had obviously heard them come in; she gestured to the empty chairs opposite her.

 

They sat and Shiro smiled, waiting. The woman waited as well, her hidden face focused on first Shiro, then Keith.

 

The silence stretched into discomfort and Keith began fidgeting beside him. “Shiro, let’s go.”

 

One of the woman’s hands moved suddenly, a fan appearing and opening as if from thin air. She began wafting the scent from the candles toward them and Shiro sneezed.

 

When she spoke, her voice was thick and rasping.

 

“Welcome, gentlemen, to your new home. You will find companions here. You will find adulation. You will find discretion. You will find...danger…”

 

She trailed off, as if the last statement had surprised her.

 

“What the hell?” Keith looked at her, affronted. “How did you—”

 

Shiro put a hand on his shoulder. “You said my name. And I’m sure Slav told everyone to look out for us.”

 

The woman chuckled at that, her voice losing the rasp and much of the accent. “Smart. That’s good.” She held out her hand. “I’m Narti, the fortune-teller and medium. I also do laundry for anyone willing to pay me.”

 

Shiro shook with her. “I’m Shiro, this is Keith. Slav seems to think we can be acrobats.”

 

Narti tilted her head. “Then you probably can. Slav has a knack for spotting talent. You’ll be a welcome change from those bothersome Brambillas.”

 

“How so?” Keith asked.

 

She waved a hand. “Name the last time either of you tried to corner a girl and put your hands where they’ve no business being.”

 

Keith’s cheeks turned scarlet and Shiro felt his own face heating up.

 

Narti pulled the veil away, revealing a plain but kind face with startling light blue eyes and heavily-rouged lips. “Don’t fret. We see all kinds here in the circus. As long as there’s no forcing your attentions on someone, we tend to leave each other alone.”

 

That kind of statement carried weight with Shiro. The only reason Mrs. Hamilton allowed them to share their room—besides the fact that between them they paid for a larger space that would otherwise go to a family with noisy children—was that people constantly mistook them for brothers, just as Slav had done. Because they _looked_ proper enough, she let them stay. If Mrs. Hamilton knew for sure that they were lovers, she would have thrown them out, quiet tenants in the largest room be damned.

 

Keith spoke up again. “Why did you say ‘danger’ just now?”

 

“What? Danger? When did I say that? Slav did tell us to look for you two and give you a good time. I figured I’d offer a pitch.”

 

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “But you did. The last thing you said after the companions and safety and all was that we would find danger here.”

 

Narti shook her head, looking just a little uneasy. “No, why would I say that?” From outside they heard the shouts from the barkers increase. “Here, you two should go find seats in the tent. Watch Zethrid and Ezor closely; they come on after the lions. They’ll be doing some of the tricks the Brambillas did.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The yellow passes gave them seats near the front. The bench seats felt a bit shaky and Keith found himself wondering about how to shore them up, then shook his head to clear it. No decision had been made yet.

 

The interior of the tent had a rig running high across the top with various lights mounted on it. Keith raised his eyebrows at an innovative design that swiveled, focusing beams of crystal-powered light in one direction. After a few moments of spinning, sending circles of light all around the tent walls in time to a bombastic tune, the lights all turned to focus on a spot in the center of the performance floor.

 

As the music crested and began to fade, a man stepped into the light, resplendent in a blue tailcoat trimmed in gold. He removed a silk top hat from his head and swept forward into a theatrical bow.

 

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, to an unforgettable night of entertainment and wonder! I am Coran, your host, and present to you the opening parade of the Altea Circus!”

 

The lights split apart to brighten most of the interior and hidden ropes drew two sections of the tent wall apart. A full-grown elephant stepped through. A woman rode its back, looking down imperiously at the crowd. She held a flask in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. Once the elephant was through the opening and into the taller part of the tent, she lifted the flask to her mouth and sipped, then brought the torch to her mouth and spat. Flames burst into the air, drawing gasps from the spectators. She repeated the action as the elephant lumbered around the perimeter, sending gouts of fire over the crowd.

 

Behind the elephant came a group of horses. The first two pranced in perfect sync and close together. The silver-haired woman from the sideshow rode them standing, one foot on each horse. She kept herself in place with a long, stiff, linked bridle in one hand and held the other hand over her head, occasionally breaking the pose to wave at the audience. The man who had been her assistant rode another horse behind her, bringing it up to rear on two legs at times and twirling a pistol in his fingers.

 

Then there was a group of clowns and acrobats, tumbling and rolling and waving at the crowd. Keith spotted the two women who had been taking tickets among them as well as the juggler and his partner and the strong-arm team. Another group of men juggled knives between them as they moved.

 

Following them, the large man from the sideshow led a pair of lions. Keith drew back slightly, seeing that there was no harness or muzzle of any kind on the large animals. As they passed, he could hear the growls under the music and crowd noise. But the animal tamer walked between them fearlessly, his hands on their backs.

 

As the line exited the tent, the juggler and his partner stayed out and seamlessly moved into their routine. He worked with balls and clubs, first on the ground and then on a unicycle. The woman wrangled his props at every turn, then suddenly they turned the tables and she began juggling. Her props were silken handkerchiefs with tiny weights sewn in. They floated, compared to the balls and clubs, but she worked her way up to manipulating eight at once to his five. They finished with a display of flaming torches passed between them.

 

As they bowed to enthusiastic applause, Coran ran back out. “That was Rolo and Nyma, gleemen extraordinaires! And now, direct from the depths of the Wild West, the amazing feats of sharpshooter Lance McClain!”

 

A pair of performers carried out a thick wooden pallet, set on its side and painted with concentric circles to form a bulls-eye. The horse rider from before sauntered out, a pistol holstered on each hip and a rifle slung across his shoulder. The silver-haired woman followed with a handful of balloons that she began to hold out as targets. With much swagger and twirling of his weapons, the man hit every balloon on the first try. Then the girl who had taken their tickets ran out and, with constant flourishes, blindfolded the marksman. The woman guided his aim with a series of shouts, then took the final balloon between her teeth. One of the swivel lights focused a beam on her.

 

Even as the tension rose and the crowd began murmuring in worry, Keith realized. The blindfold was for show and the man could see the intense light shining against the woman’s hair through the cloth. Sure enough, the final bullet broke the balloon without mishap and the audience roared in approval. Coran came back out to introduce “The Sensational Garrett, master of the wild!” as the bulls-eye was removed and several round stands were rolled into place.

 

Keith was surprised to see the animal tamer come out next, leading not two but five lions, including two maned males that had not been in the parade. Each lion was wearing a harness of a different color. The tamer guided them through leaps and rolls, then a narrow plank was placed between two of the stands and the lion in the red harness was persuaded to cross the distance on the makeshift bridge. Finally, a metal framework was rolled out between two of the stands and Garrett did something to the base. The framework lit up in a series of hoops glowing pale purple with crystal power and he got the lion in the black harness to leap through them.

 

Shiro nudged Keith and he remembered. Narti had said that two of the women acrobats would be doing stunts similar to what Slav wanted from them. As they watched, a number of performers spread out along the edges of the space, near the spectators, and did various small-scale tricks or performances. The strong man lifted weights. A pair of men in black juggled knives together. A few clowns did pratfalls and the fire-eater was back.

 

The ticket-takers were there as well, in matching sequined outfits that hugged their bodies. Keith concentrated on them, trying to remember the names Narti had mentioned. As the larger woman set up a padded chair that looked like a short chaise lounge, the smaller woman did a few contortions, bending backwards until she had her head and shoulders through her own legs and was waving at the crowd. She straightened, then brought one leg up until it was pointing to the tent roof, her knee firmly against one ear. Then the larger woman sat on the back of the chair and slid down until she was on her back, legs pointing up. Keith realized that she was going to anchor in some way, like Shiro did, with the other doing the air stunts. The contortionist leaped lightly onto the chair, her feet to either side of her partner’s head, and carefully stepped up between the other’s legs until she was standing on the chair back.

 

Then the anchor bent her knees and the smaller girl let herself lean back until she was seated on the soles of the other’s feet. They paused to check their balance, then the anchor dipped and pushed up, hard. The contortionist soared into the air and flipped, coming back down to be caught in the same seated position. They repeated the move, building into a continuous rhythm until at some signal the anchor put up her hands for the other to grab and halt her momentum, vaulting over the anchor’s head to land on the ground and strike a pose.

 

There was applause, but Keith could hear a few people around them mutter. One fellow with a deep voice that carried grumbled something about impropriety. Keith didn’t understand his objection—these two were no more scantily dressed than the juggler or the woman who had assisted the sharpshooter.

 

But perhaps that was why Slav wanted the two of them. Not only could they do different stunts than what they had seen so far, if they were needed to perform instead of the women, Keith thought he and Shiro could do so easily. He glanced over and saw Shiro studying the women intently as they did a second round of the stunt, ending with the contortionist doing half a spin so she landed with the anchor’s feet at her hips, limbs stretched out as if in flight. She put her hands on the back of the chaise and the anchor pushed her up into a handstand. She split her legs, touching her back foot to her head, and held the pose before shifting her weight, curving to land on her feet at the back of the chaise.

 

Keith winced at the thought of practicing that move and having Shiro’s foot miss his hip bone and land in his groin. _Perhaps not that move…_

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Shiro was enjoying the spectacle before him, but kept checking on Keith. He paid close attention as the women Narti had mentioned performed their somersault routine. He thought with some practice that they would be able to copy the stunt and perhaps improve on it. Keith had already done a double somersault once as a dismount—he could probably turn that last half-flip into one and a half.

 

He noticed Keith’s attention on not just the performers, but the staging and work behind the scenes. Keith had always been one to notice what was going on in the background, to look behind where one was supposed to look. Shiro admired that Keith could see past the obvious in so many ways.

 

But would it be enough to convince him to take Slav’s offer?

 

Shiro wanted it. Their positions on the dock were steady and provided what they needed to live, but it would still take several years for them to save up enough to buy a house in the city, at which point they would have to start saving for the time when they were too old to work. And at any point one of them could be incapacitated or killed in an accident.

 

Shiro thought this was worth a shot. The money would be much better and they would be traveling all across the state. He felt sure that they could do enough to earn Slav’s ten dollars a week even if they didn’t develop into a main act.

 

But it had to be Keith’s call. Keith was the one who needed stability after the loss of his parents, who needed to know where he was going to sleep and when his next meal was coming. The years between his father’s disappearance, so soon after his mother left, and befriending Shiro had been traumatic. He would not do anything to take Keith’s security from him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

They watched the rest of the show, paying slightly less attention to anything that wasn’t related to acrobatics. The silver-haired woman did an equestrienne act with the horses. The female juggler returned to play target for one of the men in black as he did a display of throwing with daggers. The fire-breather returned and performed a series of graceful acrobatics on a rope. The clowns came back and pantomimed a half-dozen ridiculous situations.

 

The animal tamer returned for the finale, bringing the elephant out to perform tricks involving balance on low, wide stands or lifting things with its trunk. Keith had to laugh when the elephant snatched the tamer’s hat, because he could not tell at all whether it was a planned part of the performance.

 

It had been fun to watch, Keith would admit. The performances were entertaining but so was seeing how everything fit together: the spacing out of the main draws, the troupers doing multiple jobs, the staging that masked the transitions from one act to the next behind Coran’s bombastic introductions. He especially wanted a closer look at the rig of lights—he had never seen anything like it, how the swiveling beams focused the audience’s attention. Keith was fascinated by crystal power and wanted to learn more, but none of the mechanics on the docks would let him near their work. Perhaps Pidge the “mad genius” would be more amenable.

 

And yet...here they had steady jobs that paid a solid wage. Here they had a roof over their heads. It scared Keith to think of giving that up after so many years of struggle in orphanages and on the streets. If Shiro hadn’t come across him and his attacker that night…

 

The ringmaster was coming out, leading a closing parade of most of the acts. As they watched, someone slid up next to Keith, who was sitting on one end of a bleacher. Keith jumped when the person touched his arm. They were short and thin, probably four or five years younger than Keith, with large eyes behind wire-rim glasses.

 

“Sorry, but Slav asked me to let you know. Stay here when the audience leaves and someone will come to show you around.” They slipped away under the stands.

 

Keith whispered the instructions to Shiro and they remained as the crowd filed out, chattering about favorite parts. Once the tent was mostly clear, the silver-haired woman appeared through flaps in the tent wall and crossed to them. She had changed out of her spangled costume and was wearing a modest dress, her hair flowing down her back in a loose ponytail instead of the elegant updo from her performances.

 

“Mr. Shirogane? Mr. Kogane?” Her voice had a lilt to it that hinted at education. Keith was surprised that she got their names right. He stood with Shiro and the woman shook hands with them. Up close, Keith could see that she was younger than he had thought, possibly his age.

 

“I’m Allura. My father, Mr. Alfor, owns the Altea Circus as part of his holdings. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the other side.”

 

She led them through the tent flaps and into a staging area. The passageway was tall and wide enough for the elephant to get through and was lined on either side with trunks and mirrors, arranged in sections for performers to prepare themselves. The other end of the passageway emerged into fading afternoon light and a sketchy camping area next to a train on its track with cars painted in a variety of colors.

 

Allura guided them past the camping area, toward the middle of the train. “Sal, our cook, runs the kitchen from the gray car. We have a dining area in the next car for when the weather is bad. The animals travel in the last cars, farthest from the engines. Hunk—sorry, that’s Hunk Garrett, our animal tamer—splits the next car with me. Everyone else is scattered up and down, with Slav near the engines. I’ll show you where the Brambillas were; that’s probably where you’ll be if you take the job. Slav said you’d probably share the quarters?”

 

“Yes, we would,” Shiro replied. Allura showed them into one end of a flame-red car, touching a switch on the wall that activated a series of lights mounted in the ceiling.

 

Keith blinked. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, never having been on a train before, but this wasn’t it. The space took up half the car. A bed large enough for two people filled the end away from the door, covered with a thick quilt and plump feather pillows. Shelves ran above Keith’s head around three sides and there was a deep drawer under the bed. There was a compartment of some kind next to the entrance and another halfway down on the opposite side. The windows had wide cushioned benches under them, more drawers beneath, and curtains that could be drawn across for privacy. A soft carpet covered the floor.

 

Allura opened the middle compartment. “This is for storing food and preparing small meals. The coldbox is up here and there’s a crystal-powered burner here. Water comes from here.” She moved to the other compartment, only having to slide a little to get around them. “This is the lavatory. You get water from the sink and have a commode. Every car has a tank on top that gets filled at stops and also collects rainwater. The car behind the engines has bathing tubs—it’s more efficient to keep the water hot that way.”

 

Keith was astonished. The space might be smaller than their room at the boarding house, but it was incredibly luxurious by comparison. A washroom and miniature kitchen right there, cushions and bedding not worn thin by dozens of tenants, tight-fitted paneling and lavish fabric lining the walls. His eyes kept going back to the bed and how cozy it looked. He pictured himself and Shiro, nestled under the covers as the train moved through the night, that little light mounted in the corner illuminating their faces as they read books or just talked together. It would be so warm; no matter how many scavenged rags they stuffed around the window and door, their room on the top floor of the boarding house was always drafty.

 

Allura waved a hand. “Those Brambillas just took off, no more than a bag each as far as I can tell. My guess is that they finally picked the wrong girl and ran away from an angry father or brother. Some of their costumes and personal belongings are still here and you’re welcome to use whatever you can. But I expect Slav will want to have new outfits made, playing up Asian designs.”

 

“And we don’t pay rent for this?” Shiro sounded as stunned as Keith felt.

 

“Of course not. Train upkeep comes out of the ticket sales, just like meals and our wages and anything needed for our acts. If you want different food than what Sal prepares, you pay for that. You also do your own laundry or you can pay Narti to do it—she handles ordinary laundry. Grandma Balmera handles the costumes. Her grandchildren are the strongarm team, Rax and Shay.” She looked at their faces, still showing disbelief. “My father believes in taking care of the people who work for him and the circus makes money. I can take you to Slav now and he can answer any other questions you have.”

 

Keith’s thoughts raced, trying to balance the pros and cons of the situation. The cons were being knocked down like dominos until the only things left were not wanting to leave the familiarity of San Francisco and uncertainty over whether they could become an act in the circus. But in his mind, those things loomed large.

 

Sensing Keith’s mood, Shiro laid a hand on his shoulder as he answered Allura. “Thank you.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Slav had a full car to himself, divided into living space and an office. He invited them to sit and took the chair behind the desk.

 

“All right, boys, you’ve seen what a performance looks like and Allura showed you backstage and the train. Do you have any other questions for me?”

 

Shiro was considering when Keith spoke up unexpectedly. “How much time are we going to get to learn what those girls were doing?”

 

Slav perked up. “In general it takes a month. Some acts integrate faster than others. And I hope you’ll consider teaching them some of the tricks you know—it could lead to all four of you doing a larger act. Zethrid and Ezor turned down working with the Brambillas, and that should have been my first clue to get rid of the bastards.

 

“But anyway, I hope that starting in Redwood City you’ll participate in the sideshow, doing the things you already know. We train and rehearse in the mornings, and some of that time will be the others teaching you what they know. Performances are in the afternoons. We do matinees on Saturday mornings to draw more families in. Once you have yourselves an act, we’ll start working in rehearsals to find where it fits in. We had the Brambillas between the lions and horses and that worked rather well. Other questions?”

 

Shiro nodded. “When would we start? We need to give our work two weeks’ notice as well as our boarding house.”

 

Slav tilted his head. “Two weeks? One week is standard.”

 

“We have a bonus coming to us, from preventing the accident you saw. We’ll lose it if we turn in our notice now. And our landlady does demand two weeks, otherwise we have to pay for yet another two weeks. She’s very…particular.”

 

Slav sat back, considering. “We’d be in San Luis Obispo by then.”

 

“We could join when you come back through Oakland,” Shiro offered.

 

Slav shook his head. “We wouldn’t be back for six weeks and I really don’t like the idea of going so long without a major acrobat act in the works.” He leaned back, steepling his fingers together. “Would you two trust me to speak to both of them? I’m quite good at negotiating such situations. You two could go settle in your train car tonight and I can take care of things in the morning.”

 

Shiro felt Keith stiffen beside him, thinking of their savings. “We absolutely have to go back for our belongings. And we are expected to report to work tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, of course you’d need to collect your things! How about if you go home, pack tonight, report to work tomorrow and meet me on your lunch break? We’ll get everything settled then.”

 

Shiro looked over at Keith. They hadn’t had a chance to continue their discussion from last night, but Shiro knew what he wanted to do. He rose and touched Keith’s shoulder. “Give us a minute, please.”

 

Slav waved at them agreeably, his eyes already vague as he began calculating something in his head. Shiro led Keith out of the car and down the stairs to the ground, walking a short distance away from the train and the camp area with some of the performers building a fire in its center.

 

“Keith, you know what I think. Being able to earn our current wages and possibly more without spending a dime on room and board is going to make saving up much faster. It sounds like they’re willing to work with us until we’re ready to perform for them. It means we get to travel. And it means we get to be ourselves around these people without being judged for it. But if it’s too big of a change for you, we won’t do it.”

 

Keith looked down, his brows furrowed together in that way that told Shiro he was thinking furiously about something. Shiro reached out with his flesh hand and traced Keith’s cheekbone with his thumb. Keith leaned into his touch and let out a deep breath as he made his decision.

 

“All right, Shiro. Let’s do it.”

 

 


	2. Transition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a heartfelt thank you to [Latart0903](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903/pseuds/Latart0903) for her invaluable help in beta reading.
> 
> I'm on Twitter and Tumblr at avidbeader. Come say hi!
> 
> If you recognize the character, it isn't mine. Just playing in Dreamworks' sandbox.

 

Slav paused and thanked all the stars in the sky that he worked for Mr. Alfor. The entrepreneur was a combination that was almost impossible to find: canny and successful yet generous and kind. And if you produced results or created profit for him, he took care of you.

 

That meant that, for today, Slav had unlimited use of Mr. Alfor’s sleek motorcar and his chauffeur. Slav would need it; he had a great deal to accomplish. He sat back in the red velvet seat of the vehicle, concentrating on the list he was writing and abstractedly humming along to the sound of the engine.

 

_The docks first, before the boys report to work. Then Taitai Yang and Master Sung for appointments for fittings, although if we have to we can buy what we need for the costumes and Grandma Balmera can make them. But we have to get Master Sung to measure the boys and make their shoes. By then they’ll have left the boarding house and I can go see this Mrs. Hamilton. Surely she’ll break their lease for two weeks’ rent in hand and knowing she can put new tenants in right away. And then back to the docks to pick them up and collect their things…_

 

The sun was just clearing the rooftops of Oakland across the water when the car pulled up to the docks. Slav handed the chauffeur a few coins. “I expect to be about half an hour, if you’d like to find breakfast or coffee nearby.” The man put two fingers to his hat in appreciation and pulled away.

 

Slav descended the stairs to the pier and walked along to the office he had visited before in trying to trace the boys— _Shiro and Keith, Shiro and Keith_ , he reminded himself. _They’re part of your company now_. He knocked and entered at the answering shout.

 

“Mr. Santos! Good to see you again!” Slav held out a hand and the transportation supervisor stood to take it, putting aside a pipe in an ashtray and tugging his brocade waistcoat down. He waved at another man, dressed in the same shirt and dungarees as the workers, with a scar across one damaged eye, introducing him as he sat back down.

 

“This is Iverson. He’s in charge of the team that Shirogane and Kogane are on. Did you find them the other night?”

 

“I did, and now I need to speak to you. What would it take for you to overlook the usual week’s notice, release them at lunchtime today, and still give them the bonus that was supposed to come to them next payday?”

 

Santos and Iverson looked at one another and Iverson shrugged, baffled. Santos leaned forward. “May I ask what all this is about, Mr. Slavinius?”

 

“Call me Slav, everyone does. I manage the Altea Circus and I want those two for a new acrobatic act.”

 

Iverson snorted at that. “A circus? Those two? Yeah, they’ve got a couple tricks they can do for beer money in the bars, but that’s it. Shirogane does pretty well with that arm of his and I’ll not deny that Kogane gives as good as any of the others even though he’s young. But there’s no way they’d want to perform in front of crowds. Neither of them is the social type, if you ask me.”

 

Slav drew a breath and began laying out his cards. “Actually, they have already agreed to it. They have the foundation skills and we have other acrobats who can teach them what they need. I’ve seen enough in my travels to know that they’ve got the potential to be a top draw. They’re prepared to work two more weeks here to ensure that they get that bonus, but I need them to leave with us on Friday and there’s a great deal to do before that while we’re here in the city. So, again, what would it take for you to let them leave today with their bonus?”

 

Iverson stared and Santos missed in reaching for his pipe. He knocked it over, spilling ash and cursing. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Mr. ah, Slav?”

 

Slav shrugged. “Being direct is more efficient seventy-four percent of the time.”

 

Iverson shook his head. “They’re two of my best people. I have my eye on Shirogane to become a foreman when Volitsky retires.”

 

Slav nodded. “That’s gratifying to know. I like hiring people who will give me their best. But this is a grand opportunity for them—Mr. Alfor is even thinking long-term of giving us a national tour, not just California. They could be performing all across the country.” He spread his hands out, subtly signaling that he had nothing to hide. “So what do you say?”

 

Santos sat back, packing fresh tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. “I’m not sure we can say anything if you’re telling the truth and they’ve already agreed to go.”

 

“True, but I am offering compensation in exchange for letting them leave today and honoring their promised bonus”

 

Santos rolled his eyes. “You got two more men who can step right in and do their job without missing a beat? That’s the kind of compensation I need.”

 

Slav was taken aback at that. But as he groped to find a way around the dilemma, Iverson came to the rescue.

 

“Well, I can go down to the _Balboa_ and talk to those two Aussies.”

 

Santos frowned.

 

“You remember, I ran across them in Sacramento Street the other night, in their cups, saying they wanted to stay here. They’ll fit in fast and anything that inconveniences the _Balboa_ captain is worth doing. He’s a bastard to his men.”

 

“And who’s your next in line for foreman if Shirogane goes?”

 

“Abelard. Not quite the leader Shirogane can be, but he knows the docks like the back of his hand.”

 

Santos sat back, puffing on his relit pipe, and looked at Slav. “You cover the bonus we were going to give them, three dollars each, and I give you their pay for last week.”

 

Slav beamed. He’d been prepared to cover the week’s salary as well, so he felt the bargain was excellent. Santos counted out a handful of bills and handed them to him. With a sigh, Santos said, “If they ever need a good reference, I’ll give it.”

 

Slav nodded. “A pleasure doing business with you, sir! And thank you!” He dug out some passes and held them out. “If you’d care to see a performance before we leave?”

 

Both men shook their heads. Slav left the passes on the desk with a cheery, "Share them how you see fit!" and took off before Santos could change his mind.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The blast of the whistle echoed across the docks, signaling the beginning of lunch rotations. They were scheduled for the third rotation, so Keith was surprised when Iverson waved him over.

 

“You two are done.”

 

Keith looked askance at him as Iverson got Shiro’s attention as well. “What do you mean? We’re on third lunch this week.”

 

Iverson looked up at the top of the high walls that separated the docks from the streets above. Keith followed his gaze and spotted Slav, waving enthusiastically from the railing.

 

Iverson held out a hand. “It’s been good having you boys. Mr. Santos said to use him as a reference if you ever need one. Mr. Slav up there has your pay and bonus. Come say hello when you’re back in town. Maybe we’ll even get a group together, come see your act.”

 

Keith felt as shocked as Shiro looked, as they automatically shook hands. They climbed the stairs slowly. Keith kept glancing back, trying to adjust for the sudden change in plans.

 

As they approached, Slav beamed at them. “Everything is taken care of! Here is your owed pay from Mr. Santos, including the bonus Iverson promised you. I’ve spoken to your Mrs. Hamilton and you can leave today—I’ve already paid what she asked for as far as closing your account with her and told her to communicate with Mr. Iverson about the two lads from Australia in case they want to take over your room. We have just enough time to get some lunch before going to Master Sung. He’s the best in the city at making the slippers you’ll need, but he’ll need to measure your feet first. I also managed to get a fitting with Taitai Yang for tomorrow morning. She’ll be making your performance costumes and she also has an excellent selection of practice clothing.”

 

Keith felt overwhelmed at the torrent of words coming from Slav, barely aware of the clump of folded bills that the manager thrust into his hand.

 

Shiro’s expression darkened. “Wait, who said you could do all this? We agreed to let you negotiate a week’s notice for our jobs and board. You didn’t say anything about needing costumes or anything!”

 

“But this way is better! You get to settle into the train, start practicing with the other acrobats. We have time to get your costumes made while we’re here at Chinatown, you can purchase anything you’ll need before leaving, say goodbye to any friends—”

 

“Is this how it’s going to be? We tell you one thing and you ignore us and do something entirely different?” Shiro’s face was turning thunderous, angry enough that a few passers-by glanced over uneasily as they walked past. “What happens next? What if we say no to a stunt because it’s too dangerous? What if you change your mind and want to pair Keith off with that strongman instead because my arm is a problem? What if—”

 

“Shiro!” Keith grabbed his shoulder, trying to calm him down. More people were looking, seeing a tall and muscular worker threatening a portly, middle-aged businessman. “Shiro, it’s both or neither and he knows that!”

 

Slav had taken a step back, his eyes wide and fingers fluttering in sudden nervousness. “Y-yes, I do know that. You’re a team. Absolutely no splitting you up. I was… I was only doing what I do for any new act coming aboard. Once you’re part of the circus I act as your agent, taking care of the things you’ll need. I… I’m sorry that I didn’t think to explain that. Most of the people I’ve taken on have had experience being part of a troupe of some kind.” Slav removed his hat and began twisting the brim. “I really am sorry.”

 

Keith felt Shiro’s muscles relax slightly and loosened his hold. When Shiro didn’t speak, Keith took a deep breath and tried. “Thanks for telling us. Like you said, we don’t know what to expect. I mean, we saw that everyone has costumes, but why do we need different shoes?”

 

Slav glanced up and then looked pointedly at Keith’s feet in his sturdy work shoes. “Do you climb up on him wearing those?”

 

“Of course not. That’d hurt him.”

 

“Acrobats and tightrope walkers wear a certain kind of shoe, with a flexible sole. You can bend your feet in them easily and the soles are made of rubber with an imprint to help grip. But because they are so flexible, they have to fit very well. Which means having an expert cobbler like Master Sung make them to measure.”

 

Shiro drew a deep breath, having regained his temper. “And the costumes?”

 

“Since we’re going with the Chinese theme, Taitai Yang is the best choice. Again, she’ll make the clothes to fit you. We can take a look at her stock and pick some signature colors and a theme: dragons, phoenixes, something like that. She should be able to have at least one set ready before we leave on Friday, then we can pick up the other sets when we come back through Oakland. Same with the shoes. That will be enough for sideshow performances while you work on your full act.” Slav had stopped mangling his hat and looked up. “Do you have any other questions?”

 

Keith rubbed Shiro’s shoulder, feeling the last of the tension drain from him. “You said we’re out of our boarding house?”

 

“Yes. We can go there after the appointment with Master Sung so you can pack your things. I’ve got a motorcar from Mr. Alfor for the day, so we can move very quickly.” Slav waved at someone behind them and they turned. Keith’s eyes widened at the gleaming car; he’d never even touched one, much less ridden inside.

 

“Would you two boys like to go to Chinatown for lunch?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Slav stood back and watched as Keith and Shiro assembled their belongings, putting clothes together in canvas sling bags and their spare shoes with smaller items in a shared carpet bag. As Keith made a circuit of the room, removing a few knicknacks from a shelf, Shiro reached under one bed to pull up a floorboard and remove a glass jar. Slav’s eyes widened slightly.

 

“My dear boys, what is that?”

 

Keith glanced up, instantly wary. “That’s ours. We earned it.”

 

“Of course you did! Of course! But why on earth isn’t it in a bank?”

 

Shiro let out a derisive snort. “Banks are for the rich. All we’re doing is saving up enough for a place of our own one day.”

 

Slav was dismayed. “No, no! Banks are for everyone! I can take you to the First California Bank as soon as you’re packed—they handle all of the circus’ finances, including accounts for everyone in the troupe. Most of the performers take twenty or twenty-five percent of their pay each week and I deposit the rest for them. Every week without fail. There’s a branch of the bank in almost every town on our tour.” He eyed the jar, calculating. “I’d say you have at least seventy dollars in there already. If you put it in a bank account, you’d be earning six per-cent interest on the total, another four dollars and twenty cents every six months! Without having to lift a finger!”

 

They looked at each other, uncertain. Slav flapped his hands encouragingly. “If you must, you can ask the other performers tonight. And while we do have an honest group—anyone who has been caught thieving is dismissed immediately—there’s still a risk of town people breaking into the train cars. I keep anything very valuable in the safe with our take.”

 

Shiro looked down at the jar in his hands, considering. “Keith?”

 

Keith turned to Slav. “You’ll go with us? To the bank?”

 

“Absolutely! They know me very well at this location; I do a lot of business here in San Francisco.”

 

Keith dug into his pocket and pulled out his wages. He held them out to Shiro, who added the bills to the jar before retrieving his own pay.

 

Slav pointed out, “You should keep a bit of cash for anything you need to buy before you leave. Anything that you can only get here. Possibly ask the others tonight what they find they need the most.”

 

Shiro kept a few bills out and put the jar into the carpet bag. He and Keith picked up the sling bags and looked around one last time.

 

As they started down the stairs, they heard a commotion from below. Slav jumped to the side as two young men around Keith’s age barrelled up the stairs.

 

“Shiro! Keith! Hammie says you’re leaving!” The blond boy looked between them, seeing their bags on their shoulders and the carpet bag in Shiro’s hand.

 

“‘Fraid so, fellows. Keith and I are off to try our hand at being circus performers.”

 

Both of them reacted with open mouths. The second boy got his voice going first. “Circus performers? Doing your lifting tricks? That’s enough to join a circus?”

 

Seeing Shiro and Keith both look uncomfortable, Slav intervened. “Oh, no. They’ve got the right skills to learn a lot more than that. By the time we come back through, they’re going to be one of our main acts, doing all kinds of thrilling stunts! You’ll have to come see when we pass through again! Now, we’ve got lots to do before they leave, so say your goodbyes for now!”

 

Slav continued down the stairs while the boys shook hands. Mrs. Hamilton was waiting at the landing, a paper parcel in her hands. As Shiro and Keith followed him down, she stepped forward.

 

“Here.” She thrust the package at Keith since he had a hand free. “Made a batch of those molasses cookies you two like so much.”

 

Keith’s eyes grew big and Slav noticed for the first time that they were an unusual color, almost purple. He took the cookies, looking at them and then at her. “Th...thank you.”

 

She shrugged. “You’ve been good tenants and I’m sorry to see you leave. Good luck out there.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. It’s been a good place to live.” Shiro’s tone was polite but cool.

 

“All right, boys, down to the car. Let’s get you settled in your new home.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

She looked up from her work as an unfamiliar hum reached her ears. She brightened at seeing a crystal-powered motorcar pull up alongside the parked train. The new acrobats had arrived. She set the gear she had been repairing down and wiped the grease from her hands with a rag. This might be her only shot at getting a good look at the car’s engine.

 

Slav got out, followed by the two men who were going to be the new acrobats. One looked to be not much older that her, with longish dark hair and a thin frame. The other was big, almost as big as Rax, and just as built. As she approached the car, the bigger acrobat leaned back into the car, pulling out a few bags. His sleeves rode up and she paused, her mouth dropping open.

 

That was a crystal prosthesis. He had a crystal prosthesis.

 

She had not seen one up close since her father and brother left.

 

The smaller one turned as she approached, even though she was trying to be quiet.

 

_Time to put on my show._

 

She swung her arms with a bit more force and began setting her feet flat as she walked instead of heel-to-toe. Pulling her cap down so the brim covered more of her face, she lowered her voice and growled out, “Hullo.”

 

Slav turned and smiled. “Hello, Pidge! Shiro, Keith, meet our Pidge, the mad genius. He’s in charge of everything that runs on crystal power: the lights, the heat, most of the contraptions we might use. We couldn’t run the circus without him.”

 

The younger man, Keith, held out a hand. “Hello again.”

 

She tried not to bite her lip. She hadn’t expected that he would remember her delivering Slav’s message the day before. She would have to be extra careful.

 

The other one, Shiro, also held out a hand and Pidge tried not to grin as she got to touch the prosthesis. She gripped it and pumped. “That’s a neat bit of equipment. Can I take a look sometime?”

 

A shadow flitted across his face, but he recovered quickly. “I suppose so. Pleasure to meet you.”

 

Slav beamed. “They’ll be joining us, starting tonight. Same quarters where the Brambillas were.”

 

Pidge nodded at that. “Can I look at the car? Ain’t never had a chance up close.”

 

Slav patted her on the head. “All right, but don’t break anything! It’s Mr. Alfor’s personal car.”

 

She nodded and ran to the hood, unlatching it and propping it open to expose the engine.

 

With her eyes drawn the the dizzying mesh of mechanics, she didn’t see Keith looking back at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

As they began settling into the train car, Shiro was feeling equal amounts of astonishment and disgust. As Allura had said, the previous acrobats had taken off without warning. After finding a second drawer full of clothing, he began methodically going through the drawers one at a time, sorting out what might fit the two of them. Allura had said that they should keep whatever they found. There were several sets of costumes in various combinations of red, green and white. Most of them featured a wolf design. Shiro put all of those to the side to see if Slav would have a use for them.

 

He simply couldn’t fathom a mindset that would walk away and leave so much of value behind. What had the Brambillas taken with them if this was what they abandoned?

 

Keith was sorting the icebox and cabinets that held foodstuffs. “Looks like someone went through and took out anything that’d spoil already. We’ve got tea and sugar, some dried meat and a bit of cheese, pickles, and some kind of preserved fruit.” Keith pulled out a sealed glass jar and looked at the contents. “Do you know what these are?”

 

Shiro peered at the golden yellow fruits inside. “I think those are peaches.” They were used to apples and grapes, bought as occasional treats from street vendors. “Want to try one?”

 

Keith set the jar back on its shelf. “Maybe later. The icebox is nice and cold. We can actually keep milk in here and you can have your tea all pale and weak.” It was a running joke between them. Shiro took a little sugar and a lot of milk in his tea while Keith sugared his heavily.

 

“Great.” Shiro lifted the last set of costumes out of the drawer he was sorting and paused, finding a decorative tin box underneath. He lifted it out and shook it, hearing something slide around inside. The lid was stuck firmly and he gripped it, trying to pry it open without bending the box out of shape with metal fingers.

 

The box popped open without warning, spilling a number of glossy cards. Keith knelt down to help pick them up, then froze, making a choking sound.

 

Shiro was reaching for the cards near him and glanced up, concerned at seeing Keith’s wide eyes and rapidly reddening cheeks. “What is it?”

 

Keith turned the card in his hand around and Shiro blinked. The card was a photograph.

 

A photograph of a woman wearing a shawl and stockings and nothing else.

 

Shiro remembered Narti’s and Allura’s comments from the previous day and understood now. There had been men like that among the dockworkers, who would catcall at certain women—not well off, not accompanied by another man. Who wouldn’t pay the ladybirds in the pubs on Sacramento Street and instead would hunt for vulnerable women alone.

 

Or boys.

 

Shiro looked for a distraction, before unwanted memories started surfacing. He swept the spilled photographs into a pile, intending to take the lot and toss them into the campfire outside. Keith helped, trying not to look too closely at the other pictures. As Shiro tapped the edges into a neat stack, he glanced at the top one and felt the blood rush to his own face. He had heard of...devices...that were supposed to give a woman pleasure, but had never seen one, much less one in use. The long metal tube the woman was holding between her legs had a small crystal in the end that shone like a star.

 

He quickly turned the stack over and got to his feet. “I’ll just...yeah.”

 

Keith nodded and moved to begin stowing their own things in the now-empty drawer.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Keith found a large cloth sack in another drawer and folded and piled the satiny costumes into it. Heaving it over his shoulder, he climbed down from their car and started for the front of the train in search of Slav.

 

He could see a few people, including Narti the fortune teller, helping set out plates and utensils on a folding table near the kitchen car. Enticing smells were coming from it. He redirected his path toward her.

 

She nodded. “Hello, greenie.”

 

He frowned at that, not liking the implication that he was young or naive. “It’s Keith.”

 

She smiled, unoffended, and he set the bag down, pulling out a tunic. “The old acrobats left all their costumes. We wanted to know if you all could do anything with them.”

 

She leaned over and ran her hands along a shiny red border. “Perhaps. I’m not sure we can unpick the embroidery without leaving marks—satin like this snags if you look at it funny—but at the very least we could make trimmings of a lot of it.” She put the clothing back in the bag and tied it shut. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

 

Keith turned and looked around. He didn’t see Shiro anywhere nearby. On the far side of the campfire area, the strongman and the animal trainer were helping Allura set up...something. She was wearing an outfit of loose trousers and a similar shirt with long sleeves. She spotted him and waved him over.

 

“Perfect timing. You and Shiro will be busy in Chinatown all morning tomorrow and we perform in the afternoon, of course. Thank goodness we still have late sunshine.” She turned her attention to the strongman, who was using a crystal-powered device to winch a rope as tight as possible. The rope laced through reinforced holes along the edges of a tarp, pulling it taut inside a large metal frame. It reminded him of the cloth deck of a catamaran.

 

“What is this thing?”

 

Allura waited for the strongman to finish, then swung one foot up onto the frame and leapt lightly onto the tarp. Whatever the material was, it didn’t stretch much and Allura stepped across it to the center almost like she was walking across a featherbed.

 

“Thanks, boys! Keith, watch me.” She began to bounce on the tarp, which gave and recoiled, sending her into the air. She built up a rhythm, going higher and higher, until suddenly she flipped forward into a somersault and landed on her feet again.

 

“Whoa!”

 

Allura grinned at hearing Keith’s surprised exclamation and did another one. The next leap she scissored her legs apart in a split, bringing them back together to land. The fourth time she flipped backwards instead. As he watched, she began decreasing the force behind her jumps, then let herself fall to a sitting position. “Fun, isn’t it? Here, pull off your shoes and get up here.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, you. This is one of the ways we work on new air stunts.” She crawled to the edge near him and held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s see what you can do.”

 

Keith perched on the frame and pulled off his shoes. When Allura saw the coarse yarn of his knitted socks, she pointed. “Those, too. Bare feet are better until you get your slippers.” She waggled a slipper-clad foot. He obeyed and let her pull him to his feet on the tarp.

 

Holding both his hands, Allura gave him a few minutes to get used to holding his balance on the constantly-moving surface. Then she bounced, and her landing sent Keith into the air for a second. He tightened his grip on her hands, but concentrated on keeping his feet as he landed, sending her up in turn. They see-sawed for a few minutes, then Allura squeezed his hands. “Ready for me to let go?”

 

Keith nodded. With his hands free, he used his arms to keep his balance and Allura began building up force in her jumps, sending him higher. Keith responded, bending his knees as she did and slowly gaining altitude.

 

Then Allura brought her feet up and touched her toes in a perfect jackknife, easily straightening to land. She waved a hand at Keith, encouraging him. He took another jump, then imitated her move.

 

She laughed. “Good!” After another few jumps, she turned away from him slightly and repeated her split jump. Keith knew he couldn’t do her front-and-back split, but on his next jump he kicked each leg to the side and up, parallel to the ground, before bringing them back together. Allura squealed at that, then arched her back and brought both feet up, almost touching her head. Keith didn’t think he could pull that one off yet and improvised, bending one leg under him while letting the other kick forward.

 

Allura had put a little distance between them and after another few bounces did a forward flip, drawing her knees up tighter than she had before. “Okay, let me get down and you try.”

 

Once she was down and he had the entire tarp to himself, Keith let himself bounce higher, then tried a flip. He didn’t rotate fast enough and landed on his ass. But he bounced high enough that he was able to get his feet under him and regain his balance. “Dammit.”

 

“It’s all right,” Allura called from the edge of the tarp. “Try again.”

 

Keith jumped a few times to regain his rhythm and tried again. The second time he landed on his feet and flashed a grin of triumph at Allura. She clapped and Keith bounced higher, relishing the fleeting feeling of being airborne. He tried another tucked-in somersault, then immediately tried the same move in a jackknife position. When he landed with ease, he flipped again, keeping his body fully extended.

 

But he had closed his eyes for an instant and lost his focus—there was no Shiro for spotting. He twisted frantically in the air to bring his feet back under him and heard a surprised cry from Allura. He bounced and let himself fall into a seated position, trying to collect himself.

 

“Sorry!” he gasped, letting the momentum bleed away.

 

Allura leaned over the frame, her eyes dancing with excitement. “Do that again!”

 

“Do what? I screwed up!”

 

“Really? It didn’t look like it. It looked amazing! Can you do it again?”

 

“I’m not sure…” Keith trailed off, trying to remember exactly how he had moved in the air. He got to his feet and began bouncing once more.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Allura tried to tell herself that the rapid beating of her heart was the excitement of seeing potential new tricks from the new acrobat as he began experimenting on the trampoline. It was absolutely not because he was slim and graceful. Nor was it because of his wavy dark hair and beautiful eyes. It wasn’t even because of the sweet way he had held onto her hands, followed her guidance, and trusted her to show him what to do.

 

Her father had made it clear that he would support her performing in the circus as just another trouper, but that she was absolutely not to compromise any professional relationships with romance. But since joining the troupe, Allura had learned something that her father didn’t know: the relationships among the performers were anything but professional. They were like family, from Slav as everyone’s dad and Coran as the uncle who listened to their problems to Grandma Balmera nursing anyone who fell sick. She had grown up an only child but now had a slew of siblings and cousins. And no one cared about people pairing off as long as it didn’t affect the show.

 

Allura had dealt with her crush on Hunk, watching his gentle nature shine through as he worked with the animals, and he was now her best friend among the performers. Lance was not an issue; he flirted with her shamelessly, but also did so with every other young woman around. Rax was kind but also devoted to his grandmother and sister.

 

But Keith might be different. She had never felt this strongly, this quickly.

 

“You do realize he’s with the other acrobat, right?”

 

Allura jumped as Ezor’s breath tickled her ear. “What?”

 

“He’s taken. You can look all you want, but he’s not gonna look back.”

 

Allura felt the heat gathering in her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Ezor grinned, the glee in her eyes verging on malicious before she turned to watch Keith fine-tune a somersault with an added twist that had him landing facing the opposite direction from his takeoff. Her expression shifted into appreciation and Allura felt a surge of irritation.

 

“So why are you looking? I can’t imagine Zethrid would like it.”

 

Ezor shrugged, completely unaffected. “Oh, no worries there. We have our fun, but it’s just fun between friends. She wouldn’t be hurt if I messed around with someone else and I won’t be hurt if she does either. But I absolutely don’t go where I’m not wanted. I’m going to enjoy training with both our new arrivals, and whatever happens will happen.”

 

Allura swallowed at the implications. She hadn’t known that Ezor was open to boys and was uncomfortable at how quickly she felt competitive about it. She had also assumed that Keith and Shiro were related in some way, given Slav’s descriptions of their tight teamwork and their similar last names. Didn’t Asian surnames work like that?

 

She was jerked out of her thoughts as a deep voice called out, “Looking good, Keith!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Shiro dumped the last of the photographs into the fire, watching the flames turn rainbow colors as the chemicals in the paper evaporated. He sensed approval from the two women seated near the fire and looked up to nod at them. The strongwoman was brushing out the hair of the fire-breather, who was relaxing into the attention like a satisfied cat. She waved a languid hand at him.

 

“Hello, new person. I’m Axca. This is Shay.”

 

He smiled at her directness. “Shiro. Pleased to meet you.”

 

“And we’re pleased to meet you.” Shay had a light, youngish voice that seemed at odds with her sturdy figure. “From everything we’ve heard, we’re going to like you a lot more than the last acrobats.”

 

Shiro glanced down at the fire. “Yeah, I’ve gathered that.”

 

Axca sat up and Shay set the brush aside and began braiding the long dark tresses. Axca held very still but kept her eyes on Shiro. “They were trouble. It took us less than three days to make sure none of the younger women were alone outside and those of us sleeping alone were locking our doors. Took them a fucking month to get it through their heads that they weren’t going to find easy pickings here. I’m surprised they stayed with us as long as they did.”

 

Shay’s expression hardened. “Of course they did. They started going after girls in the audiences or in the towns on the tour. Easy to convince some poor thing that it would be all right, no harm, he’d be gone in a week and she could just carry on as usual.”

 

Shiro’s stomach turned. “So why did they take off? They left an ungodly amount of things behind—it doesn’t look like they planned to leave.”

 

Shay tied off the long braid. “No one knows. They disappeared the last night of the stay in Sacramento. Pidge says they got a letter from Modesto, which was unusual. The only mail they’d gotten before came from Chicago.”

 

Axca sniffed. “I’d bet you a week’s take they picked the wrong girl. They ran to get away from Daddy or Big Brothers.”

 

“Probably,” Shay agreed. Her task done, she looked around and focused on something behind Shiro. “Hey, Allura’s got your boy up on the trampoline already!”

 

Shiro turned around to see the equestrienne and Keith, bouncing in the air from some kind of stretched-out cloth. A smile grew as he saw Keith catch onto the exercise and then begin experimenting as Allura got down and gave him room.

 

Shiro joined the gathering spectators, watching as Keith tumbled in the air over and over. Slav drew up next to him, beaming. “I knew it, I knew it! You two are going to be brilliant. Look at him go! I could add him to the gallery act right now if there were any way to move the trampoline inside the tent and out quickly.”

 

Shiro glanced at the manager. “So why have it at all?”

 

Slav waved his hand at it. “It’s a good way for performers to practice safely and try new stunts. Anything he can do on it, he can probably do when you vault him up. Your part is to build on your strength and learn more anchoring skills. Rax and Shay will help you with strength training and Zethrid will show you how to do the icarist stunts. The ones with the chair,” he clarified when he noticed Shiro’s puzzled expression.

 

Shiro looked back up just in time to see Keith flip and then twist twice in the air before coming down. “Looking good, Keith!” he shouted.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hearing Shiro’s shouted encouragement, Keith grinned and jumped a few times, steadying himself. Then he launched with the full strength of his legs and tucked, going for two somersaults before kicking out straight to land on his feet and bounce back into the air.

 

He wasn’t expecting a surge of shouts and applause and flailed, losing his position as his arms went wide. He came down sideways and had to fight to get to his hands and knees, finally staying put in the center of the tarp. He could feel the blush in his cheeks and Shiro came forward, holding a hand out while the impromptu audience continued to clap and whistle.

 

He grabbed the offered hand and Shiro pulled him to the edge. Pidge darted in under Shiro’s arm, offering Keith his socks and shoes. Keith nodded his thanks, suddenly realizing how out of breath he was. As he put his shoes back on, a number of people slapped his back or ruffled his hair. The sound of the cook ringing a dinner bell finally persuaded the others to disperse and head for the train.

 

As he and Shiro fell into line behind Pidge, Keith thought back to the exhilarating feeling of being airborne. He often daydreamed of riding in a zeppelin high above the city and had grabbed every chance on the docks to swing down on a rope or chain. He had even heard a few rumors of a pair of bicycle makers back East who were using crystal power to make a contraption that would fly in the air faster than a racing motorcar.

 

A soft “ooh” from Pidge dragged him back to the present. Slav’s whiz kid was taking a plate piled high with fried fish and potatoes. Keith wasn’t sure why such basic cooking was so impressive, but it would be filling. He accepted his own plate, noting that the fish was at least hot—that wasn’t a guarantee when you bought fried fish from one of the food wagons. He grabbed utensils and followed Pidge back to one of the benches around the campfire.

 

Pidge was already wolfing down his food. Keith speared a piece of fish and took a bite...and froze.

 

It was bloody _delicious_.

 

He and Shiro were used to fried seafood, living in a coastal city. But his usual experience was either greasy and cold from a lunch wagon or greasy and hot from Mrs. Hamilton’s kitchen. Whatever this Sal had done, the breading was light and crispy. Keith quickly popped the rest into his mouth, almost burning his tongue, and accepted a glass as someone handed it to him from a tray. The female juggler followed with two large ewers.

 

“I’ve got sweet tea and water. Want one?”

 

“Tea, please.” Keith mumbled around his mouthful and held up the glass for her as she poured.

 

“Good stuff, isn’t it? Sal is a blinking genius. Be sure to try the vegetables.”

 

She moved on and Keith poked at the smaller fried bits that were under the pieces of fish. He identified carrots, sweet potato, mushrooms, and broccoli, all coated in the same light batter as the fish. He tried a sweet potato and found it just as good as the fish. He nudged the broccoli to the side—he detested it and there was enough food that he could afford to be choosy for once.

 

Shiro leaned over and pointed at the offending vegetable. “You should try it.”

 

“You know I hate broccoli.”

 

“I know you hate Mrs. Hamilton’s broccoli, which is a fair opinion. She boils it to death. This is different.” Shiro took another bite.

 

Keith eyed the broccoli as if it would attack, but finally tried it.

 

It crunched. It had flavor. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and Shiro smirked at him.

 

He was on the verge of scarfing down the rest like Pidge when Nyma passed by with more tea. “Save some room. Sal always finishes a fry-day with doughnuts.”

 

At this moment Keith couldn’t see how this new venture could get better.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The clanging of Sal’s bell broke into Shiro’s dreams and he turned over. The sun was bright, shining through the far windows from the bed, and Shiro sat up suddenly. _Dammit, we’re late! Iverson is going to kill us!_

 

He was about to shake Keith awake when he registered that Keith, curled tightly beside him, was buried so deep under a thick comforter that only his hair was visible.

 

_Right. The train. The circus. First bell._

 

They had about a half hour to get cleaned up and dressed in time for breakfast. After that they were supposed to go with Slav to the seamstress who would measure them and start making their costumes. Shiro was half-dreading the process, unable to imagine himself in the beribboned garb with balloon sleeves that Keith had passed on to Narti yesterday.

 

Two hours later, Shiro was feeling even more overwhelmed. Taitai Yang’s shop was a riot on the eyes, with bolts of fabric in every possible color and texture filling shelves and propped on tables. He tried to stay still as one of the seamstress’ girls measured him in more ways than he could count. Keith was sitting in a chair nearby, watching and grinning. He was through being measured and had been offered tea while he waited. Slav and Taitai Yang were bent over some sketches at a table behind him, murmuring to one another. She was a tiny woman, even for the Chinese, with a cap of black hair and reading lenses that she kept pushed up on her head.

 

Keith got up and wandered over to the table. Shiro watched in the mirror as he picked up a drawing that had been discarded and a red coloring pencil and began idly shading the paper. After a moment he picked up a second pencil and kept at it.

 

Another assistant emerged from the back room with a fresh teapot and saw him. She immediately stalked over and began scolding him in Chinese. Keith dropped the pencil and stepped back. Shiro pulled away from the girl with the measuring tape and moved in front of Keith. She frowned as she looked up at him and turned to her mistress.

 

Taitai Yang came over and spoke sharply to her in Chinese, then turned to Keith. “Apologies. She is very protective of my shop.”

 

Keith nodded and Shiro relaxed when Taitai Yang smiled. She glanced at the paper Keith had been coloring, then looked again. She picked it up, dropping her lenses in place.

 

“Your idea?”

 

“I was...I was just fooling around.”

 

The seamstress looked at the drawing again. “Interesting…”

 

“What is it?” Slav asked, looking up from his sketch showing a figure in wide pants and a long tunic with loose, open sleeves. Shiro winced at the shape of it, a clownish exaggeration of the clothes many Chinese men wore in Chinatown.

 

Taitai Yang held up Keith’s page. “I know you said too simple, but look. Use red as the base color instead of white and edge it in black.” She picked up a pencil and began to sketch a second croquis on the page.

 

Shiro tugged Keith in front of him so they could both look more closely. The design was much simpler than most of Slav’s ideas: basic loose trousers and sleeveless tunics with a hemline that stopped below the hips instead of above the knee. The seamstress quickly colored in the second figure in a contrasting pattern, black with red trim, then added purple sashes as belts.

 

Slav frowned. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look all that Chinese to me.”

 

She swatted Slav on the shoulder. “And how do you know? Fitted close, no edges to catch on something."

 

"Well, what about sleeves? It looked so nice when the light caught the Brambillas' ribbons—”

 

"No sleeves!"

 

"But the—"

 

"No sleeves! This way is better. More freedom of movement.”

 

Shiro frowned. “Um...what about…?” He gestured with his left hand at his prosthesis.

 

Slav brightened. “Wait, yes! The lights playing off it will add sparkle to the whole thing!”

 

Shiro’s stomach twisted at that idea. He felt Keith put a hand to his shoulder, giving him the courage to continue. “But if there aren’t any sleeves at all, the… The scarring will show.”

 

Slav frowned, and Shiro could not read whether the concern in his face was for Shiro or for the act. Taitai Yang came around the table, looking distressed. “Please? Show me?”

 

Biting his lip, Shiro unbuttoned his shirt and slid the right sleeve off. Keith kept one hand on him, sending support through his touch.

 

The designer traced her fingers gently over the ridges of flesh that circled his arm at the joining. “Happened some time ago.”

 

“I was eighteen. There was an accident with a runaway horse and its wagon. My arm got pinned between the wagon and a wheel.”

 

She looked up at him. “How much does it hurt?”

 

Keith’s hand tensed on his shoulder. Shiro couldn’t look at him.

 

“It’s not so bad.”

 

Taitai Yang peered at his face through her glasses. Shiro was strongly reminded of his grandmother, a lady who could compel the truth with just a raised eyebrow.

 

“Fine. It always aches a bit, everywhere there’s scar tissue.”

 

She nodded and said something to the assistant who had scolded Keith. The girl ran into the back room and returned almost immediately with a white porcelain jar. She handed it to Taitai Yang, who opened it. Shiro caught a familiar whiff of camphor.

 

“Wait, won’t that damage the metal?”

 

“Don’t think so. Rub into the skin, wipe off the excess immediately.”

 

Keith picked up the lid, looking at the Chinese characters on the label. “This looks different from what we use. What’s in it?”

 

“Camphor, menthol, mint, and cassia. Very good at easing pain.” She scooped out some of the wax-like substance and began rubbing it into Shiro’s arm and shoulder above the prosthesis. “I can send Mei for some, add to the bill.” She spoke to the girl who had been measuring Shiro, who bowed and departed. Turning back to Shiro, she continued, “We can do something. Extra shirt under the tunic, sleeves end here.” She pointed to a spot halfway between Shiro’s elbow and shoulder. “Covers the scarring but leaves plenty of arm.”

 

Shiro was too distracted to pay attention as Keith pushed until Slav grumbled his acceptance. The designer’s strong fingers had worked the salve deep into his arm and the combined sensations of heat and cold were lifting the pain and he felt much lighter. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but using this before and after performances would greatly expand on what he could do.

 

Taitai Yang saw the change in his posture and nodded. “Better.” She picked up a scrap of cloth and wiped the edge of the prosthesis and her hands, then took up the drawing. “Now, we have the outfits. Just need something on the chest.” She moved to a shelf with books, running her fingers along the spines. “The colors are good. Red for fire. Black for water. Good balance.”

 

“Then why the purple here?” Shiro asked, pointing at the sashes she had drawn in.

 

She found the book she wanted and pulled it down. “Purple is for divinity. Immortality. Back in China, only priests could wear it. Here we have more liberty. Just a bit of purple. Bring out his eyes.”

 

Keith blushed as she pointed at him. She set the book on the table and began flipping through it slowly. There was a stylized drawing of an animal on every page, with text in Chinese on the opposite page. Shiro recognized dogs and horses, dragons and phoenixes. Then one design leaped out at him.

 

“What’s that one?”

 

She paused and looked at it. “That is the _pixiu_ , the winged lion. A fierce defender of its master, drawn to silver and gold. Helpful in attracting wealth.” She gave Slav a teasing glance and took the paper once more, sketching the symbol once in red and a second time in black on each chest, adding contrasting details in the other color. Then she picked up a purple pencil and outlined the design, adding eyes and claws in that color. She was about to do the same with the teeth when she paused. “No. Purple eyes, silver teeth, gold claws.”

 

Slav winced at that. “Aren’t silver and gold thread expensive?”

 

Taitai Yang shrugged. “Not using much. There and we edge the sashes with it. Silver for him—” she pointed at Shiro “—and gold for him.” She looked up at Shiro and Keith. “What do you say?”

 

“Why are you asking them?” Slav interrupted in a peevish tone.

 

Taitai Yang gave him a withering look over the tops of her glasses. “Who has to wear this?”

 

Shiro managed to keep the laugh inside by biting his cheek. Keith snickered beside him and the assistants all bowed their heads to hide smiles.

 

Slav growled, “They do. But how soon can you make the first set? We need them in the sideshow as soon as possible to start introducing their act.”

 

Taitai Yang’s eyes gleamed like a mercenary about to score. “I guarantee for tomorrow. And the rest by Friday. _If_ you close your account with Madame DuPont and bring me her work.”

 

Slav’s mouth dropped open. “But she...she does all the women’s costumes! And they’re all Western designs!”

 

Taitai Yang said something in Chinese and the two remaining girls dashed through the door in the back of the shop. They returned quickly, each holding an evening gown that looked like the latest Paris fashion to Shiro. Slav’s eyes grew round while Keith appeared highly entertained and ready to see what was next.

 

The manager stammered a bit. “I...I had no idea you could do this.”

 

Shiro joined the women in glaring at him. He understood that the man didn’t mean to be insulting, but how many times would they have to correct him?

 

Taitai Yang shrugged her shoulders. “Cloth is cloth. We can make anything we imagine. And DuPont is slipping, getting lazy, missing completion dates. You need to break with her anyway. Do we have a deal?”

 

Slav slumped a little and nodded. “All right. Deal. I’ll send Pidge in to collect the first set tomorrow after the show.”

 

She pointed at Shiro and Keith. “Send them after lunch. They try on, we fix before they go.”

 

“I suppose that is more efficient,” Slav sighed.

 

Taitai Yang pulled her glasses down her nose with a smirk. “I also arrange for Sung to hear about this. He cannot resist a race. Their shoes ready Thursday instead of Friday.”

 

That made Slav straighten and grin.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

As Slav went behind Taitai Yang, double-checking her math on the bill, Keith clutched his armload of practice clothing to his chest. His eyes were drawn to the sketch on the table, two figures in red and black. He pictured Shiro, wearing the black costume with the red _pixiu_ on the chest. The lion’s feet were planted and its head thrown back in a roar, echoing the higher set of Shiro’s shoulders.

 

He knew that Shiro’s arm and shoulder hurt in cold and damp weather. He had not known that Shiro was almost always hurting. He shifted the bundle of clothing to one arm and picked up the paper bag holding two jars of the pain ointment. _No way we’re forgetting this,_ he thought fiercely.

 

Shiro caught his eye and smiled.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and comments are greatly appreciated.


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